Second Step
by LoveChilde
Summary: Episode tag to 2X18, Jones. After their conversation at the bar, Gideon decides to do something about Reid. Consensual CP of an adult, you have been warned.


A/N: I'm playing with other people's characters again, none of this is mine, and I put them back only slightly bruised when I was done, promise. This is an episode tag to episode 2.18, "Jones", of Criminal Minds, and contains spoilers for that episode as well as 2.15, Revelations. There will be at least one other story in the same timeline, eventually. Probably more like two. Enjoy!

"I'll never miss another plane." Reid said resolutely.

"Good." Gideon nodded. After a short pause, he stood up. "Let's go back to the hotel." Reid gave him a questioning look, and Gideon gave it to him right back. "Certain things that need to be done, Spencer, and not here. We're going back to the hotel."

This didn't seem like the time to argue. Reid was tired and cold and depressed and achy, and he was all out of the last drops of the drug he still needed so badly. He was also determined not to use it anymore. He'd been cutting back the dose as much as he could, and dealing with the symptoms as best he could on his own, but he knew everyone noticed, however hard he'd tried to hide it. He tried not to be too resentful of the fact that Gideon definitely knew about his problems but had left him mostly to his own devices after his release from the hospital, but he guessed he was getting by, more or less, just barely. He shrugged and followed Gideon out of the bar, and they made their way back to the hotel in silence. None of the others were around, as far as Reid could see, which was all for the better. Prentiss had to be pretty pissed at him, and he couldn't even say she was wrong to be.

To Reid's slight surprise, Gideon didn't leave him when they reached the hotel but followed him to his room, rather than go on to his own. "We're not done talking yet." He explained, entering without an invitation. "Close the door."

Reid did, frowning. "Gideon, I don't-" The older agent held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

"My turn to talk. We- I- tried to give you the time and space to deal with this on your own. Obviously you can't, and maybe we were wrong to leave you."

"I'm dealing just fine." Reid protested, feeling his voice rise just a little. How was this *his* fault? He was doing his best here. It just wasn't enough.

"I'm sure you are." Gideon surveyed the room. "Let's start at the beginning, alright? Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Spencer?"

Reid sat down, suddenly too bone-weary to keep standing. He didn't care if that gave Gideon the advantage. "Like is- is a very strong word, Gideon."

"Ok. Is there anything you really wouldn't like to tell me, but know you should, immediately?"

Well, if he put it that way...Reid swallowed hard, twice, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He'd never been able to deny it to himself. From the start, it had been an addiction to him. Not a slight problem, not an 'issue', an addiction, and a bad one. But admitting to someone else that he was drowning in it? Even to Gideon, it was hard. The silence stretched, endless, painful. Finally, he had to spit it out. "I'm addicted. To dilaudid." Now it was out, he continued without breathing, had to get it all out there before the enormity of what he was doing caught up with him. "Have been for- for over a month. I've been cutting back, making the doses as small as I can, but I can't-" His voice cracked slightly and he gathered himself so he could finish, "I can't stop. I tried." This could be the end of his FBI career, he knew. Now that Gideon couldn't pretend not to know about it, he couldn't avoid reporting it to Hotch officially, and that was it. He'd be out. "I really, really tried."

"I know." The words were soft, gentle yet distant as only Gideon could be. "All things considered, I'm amazed you've been functioning as well as you have." Reid chuckled, high and almost hysterical. He was as amazed, himself. "Ok. Thank you for telling me. Now, I want you to bring me your entire stash. Put it here on the table." He indicated the low coffee table. Reid shrugged and stood up. He pulled two empty vials from his travel bag.

"I'm out. Haven't- haven't been able to get any since Austin." It'd been scary, how easy it had been then, to leave the hotel for half an hour. The drug trade was booming in the worst neighborhoods. He was too cautious to try to score any more in DC, the risk of somebody seeing was too great. Also, it scared the hell out of him. "I've been, uh, rationing. I guess."

"When did you run out?" The question was blunt, and Reid knew he couldn't lie, and felt a hot flush crawling up his face. He couldn't look at Gideon, and his voice was very low. "Last night."

"You shot up during a *case*?" Gideon's face darkened, and Reid winced, hunching into himself.

"Better than going into detox with a- a killer on the loose." He countered, knowing it was no defense at all and miserable about it. "I'm sorry. I had to. I had to sleep."

"I'm sorry too." Gideon sighed. "Alright. Stay here, don't move." With that, he started a systematic, very thorough search of Reid's room. The younger man watched him in silence, not protesting as empty drawers were opened, as his bag was turned inside out. The lack of trust hurt more than the invasion of his privacy, but he could understand it- addicts would normally do anything to protect their substance of choice. In this, at least, he was entirely safe, as he really didn't have any more anywhere. All he had to deal with was the anxiety that knowledge brought. He'd gone through partial detox three times inside six weeks, and his body was pretty much ready to just give it up and collapse, if only to get a rest. After half an hour, which seemed more like an eternity, Gideon seemed satisfied that the two empty vials were all that was there. They sat on the table, a silent accusation and threat in one. Reid cleared his throat and tightened his arms over his stomach.

"Now what?"

"Now you sit tight, and I'm going to make a phone call. Don't move." Gideon slipped the vials into his pocket, and gave Reid a long, searching look. "Feeling nauseous?"

"Kinda." But it was hardly unusual, these days.

"Then you can move if you need to throw up. But don't even think about leaving the room. I'm trusting you here, Reid." *_More than you deserve_*, was the unspoken addition. Reid nodded- where would he go? He'd only just reached the final conclusion that he couldn't imagine life outside the BAU. He'd stay as long as he was allowed to. When Gideon left, he pushed himself back until he was leaning against the wall, legs splayed out on the bed, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure whether it was withdrawal or anxiety that was making him nauseous. Probably both.

Outside, Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose and hit speed dial.

"Hotcher."

"Hotch, Gideon. I'm with Reid at the hotel."

"Is he ok?" Even at the end of a case, Hotch sounded tense. Gideon knew he worried about their youngest agent.

"Not hurt, if that's what you mean. Emotionally..." Gideon hoped his voice could convey the shrug that Hotch couldn't see. "He admitted to me that he has a problem."

"About time." He could hear Hotch relaxing, just a bit. "Now we just need to decide what we're going to do about it."

"I'm not going to report him." Gideon said, decisive. "You can go ahead if you like."

"You really think that's an option for me, Gideon?" A hurt note in Hotch's voice, and Gideon immediately regretted even suggesting it, except that they both needed to acknowledge the problem. By rights, they had to report it.

"No. But it had to be out there. I'm sorry." He paused and sighed. "Hotch, he shot up yesterday. Before we solved the case." At Hotch's quiet and heartfelt 'shit', he added "In his defense, it was after we'd broken up for the night, and not enough to affect him this morning. And he doesn't have any more, hopefully he'll be able to stop now, if we help."

"Still, Jason..." He could feel Hotch's frustration through the line. "What're you going to do?"

"I'm open to ideas. Get him home, see him through detox, this time for real? We've left him to his own devices too long, Hotch. He tried to quit on his own, he can't."

"It's not easy." Hotch agreed. "Ok. Get home, get him back on his feet. I have a friend who knows a good NA group for law enforcement people. We don't report this." Another sigh. "We'll have to tell the others."

"I'm pretty sure most of them have noticed." Gideon said drily. "They tend to take their cues from us." And yeah, he was feeling plenty guilty about that.

"This isn't our guilt-trip. Jason. Not right now." Hotch stopped him. "We'll meet for drinks sometimes and discuss our inadequacies as leaders. Short term though, tonight- what are you planning to do, Jason?"

"What do you mean?" Gideon had a feeling he knew where Hotch was going with that line of questioning, and he still wasn't sure himself what he was going to do.

"Please don't make me spell it out. You know what I'm asking-"

"And I know you don't approve." Hotch was the only one on the team, as far as Gideon knew, who was aware of his arrangement with Reid, and he'd been quite clear about his dislike of it. However, he accepted that Reid was an adult and that he had no control of their private relationship. "I don't know, actually. I don't know if he's up for it, physically or emotionally, and honestly, I'm not sure I could do it. He's been hurt too much."

"Well, whatever you decide is between the two of you. But, imagine the circumstances were different, if he'd missed a plane for no reason..."

"If the circumstances had been different, he wouldn't have missed the plane." Gideon pointed out, although he knows Hotch is right. "And anyway, they aren't different. They are what they are, and I just don't know."

"Fair enough. Do what you think is best."

Gideon glanced at his watch. "I should go back in there, he's probably tying himself into knots worrying what I'll do. You guys coming back here?"

"JJ's dragging us all out for a drink, we'll be a couple of hours. Wheels up at 9 am tomorrow morning. Let Reid know- tell him I'm not angry, ok? And that we'll all help him. And whatever you do, good luck."

"I'll let him know. And- Hotch, did you just give me permission?"

"You don't need my permission for this, Jason."

"Well, your turning a blind eye to it helps. There are enough people who'd see it as assault or abuse."

"I know it isn't." Hotch sighed. "It doesn't make it any easier to accept, alright? Do what you have to do."

"Thank you." Hotch didn't like it, and Gideon was pretty sure he knew why, even though they weren't supposed to profile each other. "I'm not packed for this, damnit..."

"You'll figure it out. Go, I'll keep the others away as long as I can."

"Thanks. Have fun." Gideon hung up and took a deep breath. Squaring his shoulders, he went back into Reid's room, finding him slumped on the bathroom floor, pale and somewhat shaken. "Reid?"

"I'm- ok. I think." He wasn't ok, not even close, but at least Gideon was back and maybe he could stop being worried sick sometime soon. He made an effort to pull himself up. "What'd Hotch say?"

Gideon didn't bother to ask how he knew- it was pretty obvious, really. He picked up a water bottle and tossed it carefully in Reid's direction, didn't comment when he failed to catch it. He did pick it up from where it fell and used it to rinse his mouth. "That he's sorry you didn't confide in us before now, and that we'll help. He has a friend who knows a group. And that he's not angry with you, he wanted me to tell you that specifically."

Reid swallowed hard again and looked away, feeling his throat tighten. He shook his head. "He should be. You all should."

"This wasn't your fault, Spencer. You didn't choose to be kidnapped or drugged. He gave you the stuff, what- two, three times?"

"Five." Reid's voice was faint. He didn't want to remember this. Gideon's eyes widened and he whistled softly.

"Five? You're lucky you didn't OD. And it's no wonder you became addicted, either." Reid shrugged and walked back out of the bathroom. He was still feeling shaky and sick, but for the moment he thought it would be safe to sit back on the bed. "It wasn't your fault, get it?"

"Intellectually I know that." He agreed. "Emotionally..." He was a mess, emotionally. Especially now. "I don't want to leave the BAU."

"I know. We'll help you out of this. You'll have to let us help you, which you haven't so far, but we'll do our best." Gideon chuckled, surprising Reid who looked up, frowning. "Sorry- it shouldn't be funny because it could've ended badly, but you missing that plane was the closest to a foot stomping, screaming tantrum that I've ever seen you throw."

Reid considered this and his face relaxed into a hesitant half smile. "I guess I was crying out for attention pretty loudly there." Profilers were rarely allowed any sort of denial, even about their own actions and motives.

"Yup. You should consider yourself lucky you're getting my attention and not Hotch's." Gideon continued the light-hearted direction of the conversation and watched as Reid winced, but without any real fear.

"I can't even imagine looking him in the face right now." Or Gideon, actually, or any of the others. He felt about an inch tall, all told, pathetic and unhappy.

"Fortunately, as I said, you don't have to. Instead, you get my undivided attention." It was as good a time to bring the subject up as any, Gideon figured. "This sort of behavior- the unprofessionalism of ignoring calls and missing an assignment on purpose, I mean- would generally receive a very specific kind of my attention, you know." He waited until Reid made the connection. That it took him almost ten seconds was a testament to his level of fatigue and distress, but finally he flushed.

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. We need to discuss that, don't we?"

"Do we?" Reid looked sick again. He blinked very quickly a few times. "Uh..."

"Normally I wouldn't even ask your opinion, but you've been through enough lately. It's entirely your decision." Just as it had been the first time. Gideon had put the suggestion out there. Reid had been the one to choose to take him up on it.

"I- I don't know." Admitting that was hard. Really, really hard for Reid. He knew it had always made him feel better before, but he already hurt all over- would this even register? "Gimme a minute to think. And, uh...Change. I think." Frowning in concentration, he ignored Gideon for about three minutes in favor of pulling sweats and a t-shirt from his bag. "Actually- mind if I take ten? I fell like I'm dragging half the cigarette smoke of New Orleans around in my hair." It would give him time to think, and calm down, and he'd spent half the day in a cold sweat and felt pretty disgusting by now. He needed a few minutes to be by himself and think about this. Gideon nodded.

"I think I'll take the time to do the same, actually. I'll be back here in fifteen minutes, and we'll see, ok?"

"Yeah, good." Glad of the reprieve, Reid left Gideon to see himself out and disappeared into the bathroom. While there, he actually did his level best not to think at all, to lose himself in heat and comfort and steam, let the water relax his too-tense muscles and wash away the events of the day. It made him feel marginally better. Without actively thinking about it, he'd made his decision by the time Gideon returned, like him in comfortable after-hours clothes, in his case jeans and a sweatshirt. Reid let him in and the sat down on the bed. "I think we should do it."

"Are you sure?' Gideon was not surprised, although he privately admitted he'd hoped Reid would decide against it.

"No, but it'll be better than not doing it." Reid took a deep breath. "Physically I've been cleared, you know. I'm in withdrawal, but I'm not injured." It felt strangely good to admit that out loud, after hiding it all those weeks. "I'm not damaged. I want you to treat me as if nothing happened. If I'd pulled that stunt with Prentiss any other day..."

"If nothing had happened, you wouldn't have pulled that stunt." Gideon pointed out again.

"Fair enough, actually." Reid nodded. "But if I had..."

"Then I would feel entirely justified, yes. But Reid, I'm not concerned about the physical side of it." In that, Gideon was a lot more concerned about himself- he'd witnessed Reid's torture along with the rest of the team, and wasn't sure he could bear to be the cause of anything like he'd seen then. He couldn't hear those broken sounds again. "I'm not sure I can do that to you."

"So what? I'm too fragile now?" Reid was almost angry. "God. I can't believe I'm actually asking for it. Usually I'd be pretty glad to get away without."

"You've been asking for it since yesterday at least. Probably longer, but I ignored it." Gideon said thoughtfully. "Look, Reid...I saw the video and- I don't know. I'm not sure I can do that to you."

"This is nothing like what Hankel did to me." Reid replied sharply. "Nothing! It's- it's not torture. I'm not that self destructive, Gideon, not yet. I don't think I ever will be."

"No, you're just trying to throw your career away. If that's not self destructive..." Gideon's stomach was in knots. "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. It usually makes me feel better. It's nice to- to-" ~_Confess_~ The word echoed in his mind and the young agent froze, his blood running cold and whistling in his ears as the terrifying gravelly voice continued, pulling him further into nightmare memory. ~_Confess your sins, boy_!~ And pain, everywhere, and his own terrified voice protesting that he has nothing to confess, and more pain, and the cold oblivion of the drug, and-

"Reid! Spencer, calm down. You're hyperventilating." Hyperventilating and scrunched down between the bed and the wall with his eyes screwed shut and his arms around his knees, tight to his chest. Gideon touched his shoulder and he flinched violently. "Breathe, Spencer. You're safe. Hankel's dead. You're safe in a hotel. It's all over."

"Not over. Never over." Through chattering teeth, suddenly freezing, Reid clawed his way out of the flashback slowly. His stomach turned and flipped, but there was nothing left in it to reject. He withdrew into himself until he was sure he could open his eyes without freaking out again. "Sorry. I- it's- I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Gideon's touch was more welcome now, and comforting. "Breathe in and out. Steady. You'll be ok." Slowly, Reid got his breathing back under control. Gideon passed him the water bottle again, and he drank, and wished for something other than water. Maybe later, though. "Better now?"

"Yeah. I guess." At least he was firmly back in the present. "Sorry. It just-"

"I get it." Gideon spared him the awkward explanation. "It's ok. It's also fairly clear you're not ready for this. I'm glad it happened now and not later."

"Huh? I'm ready, Gideon. Really I am." Reid protested, and again kicked himself mentally for literally asking for it. "I'm fine. Really."

"Spencer, you're not fine. You're nowhere near fine. Just talking about the possibility of it sent you into an anxiety attack. Your body and your subconscious are broadcasting loud and clear, kid. I'm not taking that kind of risk."

Reid glared at him. "I need you to treat me normally, Gideon. Please. I- I need to know things can be normal again. Just...let's not talk about confession for a bit, ok? I'll try not to freak again. I promise."

"You can't control that, and you shouldn't try to." Gideon studied him for a long moment and then sighed and nodded. "Ok. We'll do this. But I'll be keeping an extra close eye on you, and I'll stop at the slightest sign of distress."

"Fine, ok, yes." Reid closed his eyes tightly. "Just go ahead, before I change my mind or lose my nerve. Please."

"Ok, ok." Gideon half-smiled. "I'll remind you that you asked for it, later." He stood up. "Now, I didn't pack for this eventuality- I gather waiting until we get back to the office isn't an option?"

"I'd rather not wait." Really, he wasn't sure about doing this, just as Gideon wasn't. Letting them both stew until the next day was just a bad idea. "Um..."

"I'm not using my hand, if that's what you're aiming for." That wasn't open for discussion and never would be. A belt wasn't, either- there was too much risk and too many connotations there, for both of them. "Oh, I know." His slight smile turned wicked as he pulled Reid's go bag open. There were advantages to having checked over all his stuff earlier. "Ah-ha!" He brandished his find, and Reid gave him an almost betrayed, mournful look.

"My own hairbrush? Really?" He winced, looked at the broad wooden back Gideon was inspecting for nicks or cracks. "That's cruel, Gideon."

"It's lighter than your paddle, so don't complain. The fact that you brought it along with you just adds to the poetic justice."

"It'd just my usual hairbrush." Reid was almost, just almost, pouting. "Which I'll never be able to use again after this. Best we can do, I guess."

"No more talking now, Spencer." After another moment of thought, Gideon sat down on the bed. "Come here."

"Over-?" Reid frowned, looking more than a little wary. "We've never done it like that before."

"There's to much stuff on the desk there. I hate hotel desks, and besides, I said I was going to keep a closer eye on you than usual." It was unusual, and far more intimate than Gideon usually liked to be, but it was safer. He knew there were no sexual overtones to this, for either of them. "Across my lap, kid." After some awkward maneuvering, Reid was settled with his rump over Gideon's lap, his upper body flat on the bed and his legs dangling over the edge. "Comfortable?"

"Mortified."

"Good enough. Ready to start?"

"I guess." Reid closed his eyes and prepared himself mentally, getting used to the unfamiliar position, the warmth of Gideon around him. If Gideon was trying to distance the experience as much as he could from what Hankel had done, it was working so far. He shivered when Gideon pushed his sweatpants down to his knees, wriggling slightly to help him with it. This was always done on bare skin, there'd never been a question of changing that.

"Ok then. Tell me, Spencer, what you're being spanked for."

This was ritual, familiar and comforting. Gideon was very careful about making sure they both knew why they were doing this. "I asked you to." He answered, though he knew it wasn't the exact answer, and a light tap with the brush on his ass refocused him.

"Seriously, Spencer. What are you being punished for?"

"For- for ignoring Emily's calls and not going with them. For worrying them and being unprofessional."

"Good. What else?"

"Uh...For shooting up during a case?"

"Technically, yes." Gideon's hands held him stable. "But not exactly. You are *not* being spanked for becoming an addict, is that clear? That wasn't your fault, you tried to break the habit on your own, clearly you need more help, and it's our fault that we didn't see it and provide it sooner."

"No- you couldn't-"

"We should have given it more thought. You shouldn't have to deal with this alone, Spencer. However, you should've trusted us enough to ask for help. Especially since it was affecting your work performance. I'm not spanking you for that, because no one can force you to trust, but you should've known better. I find it disappointing."

Gideon's disappointment hurt more sharply than any spanking and he knew it. Reid nodded slightly and buried his face in the sheet. "I'm sorry."

"I know, kid. I'm sorry too. You have your team, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone. Anything else?"

Reid thought for a moment, losing himself a little in the cool air on his bare skin. It helped him to forget the rest of his generally low physical state. "Splitting away from JJ at the farm." He said at last. "We should've stayed together. This wouldn't have happened if we had."

"Or he'd have killed one of you and taken the other. Spencer, that wasn't either of your faults, you had no way of knowing. I'm not going to spank you for any kind of perceived guilt in what happened there. Listen to me, Spencer, 'cause I'm gonna spell it out for you, ok? You had no idea what you were walking into, and you couldn't have know, either. You were taken by a mentally unbalanced, extremely dangerous man, and despite being drugged out of your mind you managed to lead us to him, free yourself, and kill him- on your own. You didn't do anything wrong there. Clear?"

"Clear." Reid's voice was almost too faint to be heard, and his throat too choked with emotion to speak.

"Good. Here we go." Apparently satisfied with the current list, Gideon slapped the brush down on Reid's rear. The younger man shivered, but didn't respond otherwise. It stung a little, but not enough to really hurt yet. He was sure that would change. "Remember, you wanted normal. I'm not going to go easy on you."

"Wouldn't have it- ow- any other way." The second slap was harder, and he hadn't been ready for it. There was usually very little conversation on these occasions, and Gideon soon settled into a rhythm, left, right, learning the force and impact of the brush. It was a new sensation for Reid as well, and at first he concentrated on cataloguing how it differed from the paddle. Then, he just focused on the growing heat in his rear, steadily increasing as Gideon kept up the rhythm. Then, he suddenly broke that rhythm- covering Reid's thighs in very fast, irregular slaps. Reid gasped and squirmed, trying to evade the brush.

"Cut that out, kid. You'll hurt yourself." Gideon tightened his hold around Reid's waist. "You're going to remember this one for a very long time. When you can't sit tomorrow on the flight home, remember that you're a member of this team. That comes with responsibilities- you willfully ignored those, and you're being punished for that. It also comes with some perks, like support and help when you need them. Use that. Let us help you. Got that?"

"Y-yes." Reid's voice hitched slightly. It was really starting to hurt, and as usual Gideon's words affected him than the implement he was using. And the brush was no slouch in the stinging department, either. The ghost of a memory tugged at Reid's consciousness and he stiffened, willing it away, his breath catching as his eyes stung with unshed tears. Gideon felt the change in him and stopped.

"Reid? Spencer, talk to me. You still with me?"

"Just- gimme a second." Reid took a deep breath, then another. This was nothing like Hankel. Discipline, given out of care and consensually, was nothing like torture. This wasn't abuse. Nothing like it. Part of his mind knew that. The other part was pulling insistently towards another panic attack.

"Spencer, if we need to stop this now then we'll stop." Patient, but getting worried, Gideon put the brush on the bed. "Wanna sit up?"

"I'm ok. Really. Just- needed a moment." Time to pull himself back to the now, to compose himself. "We're not done yet."

"Sometimes I think you're a closet masochist, Spencer."

Reid twisted his head around to glare at him. "I'm not. But I'd really like to get this over with before the others come back."

Shaking his head, Gideon gave him another two minutes, until he felt the body across his lap relax again, breath steadying. "Planning to get loud, kid?"

"Dunno yet." He wasn't usually particularly vocal during punishment, and Gideon had never hit hard enough to really make him yell- yet another difference between this scene and the one in that awful room with Hankel. He shrugged as best he could, lying down as he was, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as discreetly as he could.

Leaving it at that, Gideon continued where he'd left off before, focusing this time on Reid's sit spot, hitting the same spot several times, very quickly, then doing the same one the other side, and repeating. Reid was definitely squirming now, gasping and occasionally hissing when a particularly sensitive spot was targeted. "You could have a great future in the Bureau, Spencer, but you need to get over this for it to continue."

"I know." Reid choked out. "Don't wanna leave. Not sure I'll have much of a future anywhere else." The BAU was all he knew, where he'd spent his entire adult life, since college. He couldn't imagine himself anywhere else, not in any fulfilling, satisfying way. A sharp crack with the brush drew him out of this sudden onset of self pity.

"You could try other things. Maybe one day you'll even want to. And you're brilliant, you'd probably do well. But you won't get anywhere with the drugs controlling everything you do. So you'll detox and pull yourself back together, and you'll be fine." Reid ass was a dark, vivid pink, patches of it already getting a mottled purple. Gideon remembered just how easily he bruised- the marks would stay with him for a few days, certainly. He was glad; leaving a reminder meant he didn't have to do this as often.

"Will I?" He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but thought it justified, for the moment. "Haven't been able to so far." A few tears slipped free and he clamped his mouth shut, knowing he was giving too much away.

"You betcha." Gideon was clearly opposed to letting him wallow- the assault on his rear continued, harder than before it seemed, or maybe it just felt that way on overly-sensitized skin. "You'd have been able to do it on your own as well, given a little more time and maybe a little less stress. But with help you'll get there faster. Trust me." Suddenly he had an idea. "Spencer, d'you know the twelve steps they use in support programs?" He was sure that Reid had done his reading on the subject, both now and previously. Indeed, the younger agent nodded. "What's the second step?"

Puzzled, but glad to be distracted from his current predicament, Reid searched his memory quickly. "Admitting and accepting that a force greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. But they mean God, and...I don't really believe in God. And I hope you're not developing a complex."

Gideon slowed the spanking, but didn't stop it quite yet. "I'm not, Spencer. Now concentrate: do you agree that the team is greater than the individual?"

"Of course." He could see where this was going, and it gave him hope.

"So, the next step should be easy, logical even. Let us help. We can get you over this. You just have to admit that we can. And trust me, we can. And you, just so we're both clear, aren't weak, or bad. You have good friends, who love you and will help you where you can't help yourself. Do you understand?"

"Uh huh." Reid was crying by now, as quietly as he could, trying to at least pretend he wasn't even though he knew Gideon wasn't fooled. "Thank you. I'll try, I promise." He managed to say this almost steadily. More or less.

"Good boy." They were ready to end it, then. For the next thirty seconds or so Reid imagined he was sharing the feelings of a load of laundry at the very end of the spin cycle as the brush struck again and again, lightning fast, until it completely engulfed his consciousness. When it was over he was breathless, and the first breath he managed to take came out as a ragged sob, and then another, and he found he couldn't stop. Gideon rubbed his shoulders comfortingly, in silence, until he got himself back under control. "Ok now?"

"N-no." He took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "But I will be, eventually." It took real effort to make that a statement rather than a question. Gideon slid away from under him, discreetly looking away as Reid pulled himself fully onto the bed and drew his pants up, wincing as the material rubbed against his battered butt. "God, tomorrow's gonna be unpleasant."

"Tomorrow, and the next day, and maybe even the day after." Gideon agreed. "But it'll get better. All of it. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that." Reid spoke into his pillow, feeling bone tired, drained by everything that had happened. It'd been a fairly exhausting few weeks, after all. A glass of water appeared by his head.

"The bottle's empty. You should rehydrate." He managed to push himself up and drink. Past experience told him that he'd likely have to get up to throw up at some point during the night, at least once. He hadn't had an uninterrupted night, without the help of drugs, since his release from the hospital.

"Thanks." He was so tired. "When're we leaving tomorrow?"

"Nine. I'll come by to wake you up." Gideon rested a hand on his shoulder. "Get some sleep, ok?"

"Yeah...Don't think I have much of a choice about that. Ok. Gideon-" He looked up, catching the older agent and looking him in the face for the first time that evening. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Let's try not to have a repeat of that anytime soon, though, ok? I hate doing this to you."

"I'll do my best." The Reid winced again. "I need a new hairbrush." Gideon laughed and shook his head. "No, seriously. I can't use that one again."

"You'll figure it out somehow. Good night, Spencer."

"Night Gideon." Reid was already asleep when Gideon quietly closed the door behind him. He ran into Hotch in the corridor.

"How'd it go?"

"It wasn't easy." Gideon admitted, "For either of us. But I think it'll be ok. He'll get over it." He sighed. "And I'm as tired as he was, after. You owe me a drink, but I think I'll hold off until we get home to collect."

"Anytime." Hotch nodded, not smiling but not frowning either, which was close enough to a smile. "Good night, Jason."

"Night."

Reid's hair looked like a bird's nest in the morning, and his eyes were red in a pale face. Morgan teased him about have a wild night, but Gideon watched, silently amused, as their youngest agent spread himself out on his stomach on one of the benches, ignored Morgan and pulled out a book.

Yeah. It was going to be ok. 


End file.
